


I Think We're Alone Now

by one_black_coffee



Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: Angst, Dancing, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Idiots in Love, Implied/Referenced Homophobia, M/M, The other losers are mentioned - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 05:46:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29327235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/one_black_coffee/pseuds/one_black_coffee
Summary: Based on the song I Think We're Alone NowThe sun was blazing high in the afternoon sky, gracing Derry both with unbearable heat and golden rays that rippled across the asphalt. Bill muttered under his breath about the sticking heat as he walked to Stan’s house.The two had made plans to study at the Uris house the week before. Stan had assured Bill that Donald and Andrea Uris would be out for a few hours that day, so the two would have the house to themselves.
Relationships: Bill Denbrough/Stanley Uris
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11





	I Think We're Alone Now

The sun was blazing high in the afternoon sky, gracing Derry both with unbearable heat and golden rays that rippled across the asphalt. Bill muttered under his breath about the sticking heat as he walked to Stan’s house.

The two had made plans to study at the Uris house the week before. Stan had assured Bill that Donald and Andrea Uris would be out for a few hours that day, so the two would have the house to themselves. A house without parents was a rare thing amongst The Losers, much rarer for Stan, Bill, and Eddie, so the opportunity to be alone was one neither could resist. Bill loyaly trudged down hill to the bottom of the street, his pockets filled with different candies he smuggled out of the local shop, and a backpack mostly dedicated to bags of chips. Stan had promised to secure the soda--- “I think I could manage some  _ Special Soda _ , too. Mom and Dad rarely touch the stuff and Richie didn’t slug all of it last time”--- a prospect that had excited Bill almost as much as just the idea of an afternoon alone with Stan.

However, as he neared the last house on the street--- bigger than most of The Losers’ homes but not any more inviting; the only sign that a real family, not a doll family, lived there was the hand painted mailbox that read, in Stan’s swooping cursive, “ _ Uris _ ”--- Bill began to actually take in his surroundings and didn’t like what he saw.

Just like most days, not a soul other than Bill was walking around outside. Whether it was the heat of the day or just the general sour atmosphere Derry seemed incapable of escaping, every other household stayed indoors. The lack of life outside of the homes lined up on the street wasn’t what made Bill slow his pace until he finally stopped behind the only tree in Stan’s lawn; that was entirely due to the car still parked in the driveway.

Stan had been sure his parents would be gone by the time Bill was to come over and the fact that Stan had failed to notify Bill of any such changes worried him. Surely Stan would have texted Bill if his parents were still home. There was no good reason to be in any building with Stan  _ and _ his parents, they never had anything past civil to say, and certainly that was even a stretch for any of The Losers. 

Bill pulled out his phone to double check he hadn’t missed and last minute “ _ stay home _ ”s from Stanley. He hadn’t. Which only meant bad things, Bill was sure. While Stan quietly assured his friends that Donald and Andrea were no worse than any other parent that expected a promising life from their only child, none of them truly believed a word he said. Stan was a self proclaimed, world class liar--- stemming from being the not-entirely-straight son of a small, conservative town’s only local Rabbi--- and though his friends all knew Stan wouldn’t to them unless he had good reason to, they never were certain what was going on in his home.

Bill always had the best idea of Stan’s home life, aside from maybe Richie. After enough years of pathetic, teenage pining, Richie had finally managed to divide his time between his childhood best friend and his boyfriend. Richie had never divided anything equally in his life. And Stan promised he was fine with it. Richie believed him. Stan didn’t break his promises, even through his lies.

Richie’s slight absence in Stan’s life had left more of an opening, which Bill had quickly filled with afternoons of shitty horror movies and nights of practicing catching the popcorn Stan threw at him in his mouth--- though, the childhood nights of goofing off until the early hours of the morning had since graduated to far less innocent versions of goofing off. 

Stan promised that was more than okay with him too.

But the blue sedan, with its lights and motor off, in the driveway made a deep ache drive through Bill. He could make no excuse to walk through the front door while he was well aware of the presence of Stan’s parents--- that would just be unfair to Stan--- but he had been so looking forward to getting the day alone with his best friend without the guilt of leaving behind the rest of The Losers.

Hoping beyond hope that Stan still had his phone somewhere away from his father, Bill typed out a fast “ _ is everything okay in there? _ ” and sent it, keeping his phone in his hand rather than place it back in the pocket of his shorts. Worried to a new point, Bill knew returning his phone to the pocket would be a waste of time as he would only be dragging it back out every few seconds to check for any new messages from Stan.

For a moment, the gray bubble of blinking dots appeared on the screen, telling of Stan’s typing, but it disappeared rather quickly. That only made Bill’s heart speed up to a frightening pace. The wait for any response at all felt like ages. Bill had--- rushed--- gone through countless time passing activities just to calm himself but none had worked for longer than a few seconds. It was only the sudden clanging of the front door opening that managed to drag Bill away from his ever spiralling train of thought.

Donald Uris, dressed in his usual suit and slicked back hair, led the way to the car. Behind him, Andrea Uris looked shaken. She followed her husband dutifully into the car, her hand slipping just slightly on the door handle before pulling it open and climbing in. Bill watched as Stan’s father brought the engine to life but didn’t back the car out. Whatever words were spoken between the couple, Bill would never be able to make out, but they couldn’t possibly have been anything good based on Donald’s too firm grip on the steering wheel and Andrea’s pursed lips.

Donald made a move to get back out of the car but Andrea silently put a hand on his arm and shook her head. He backed the car out of the driveway and drove up the street, passing by Bill’s hiding spot without a glance.

Bill didn’t waste another second behind the tree. The front door was still open so he invited himself inside, something he and the others had been doing for years. Once inside, Bill carefully shut the door behind him and looked for any signs of Stan. The coat rack beside the door still held Stan’s coat, and Stan’s usual sneakers were placed neatly on the shoe mat. The lights in the foyer, living room, and upstairs hallway were all flipped on, too. That wasn’t anything concerning. Those were all perfectly normal things, Bill reasoned with himself.

Still, Stan’s phone, discarded and face down under the table to the right of the front door was definitely unusual and cause for concern. Bill bent to pick it up, finding it with a small crack in the screen but no major damage, and slipped it into his pocket along with the chocolates.

He was just about to call out when the music started. Loudly.

The source, Bill figured, was Stan’s bedroom. He kept a CD played tucked away in his closet to play the CDs Richie still insisted on giving as gifts, along with the few CDs he had kept over the years. One such CD was a mixtape Bill had--- half jokingly--- given his boyfriend as a way to not so subtly hint at his feelings for the other. Stan had kept it, though Bill hadn’t heard him play it before now.

After toeing off his shoes and placing them next to Stan’s on the mat, Bill made his way up the stairs. The door to the master bedroom was slightly ajar, leaving enough room to see into the pristinely clean room that had been left hurriedly and forgotten, if the glowing lamps and ceiling light were any indication. The door to Stan’s bathroom being shut made Bill falter. Of course, with the music blaring from Stan’s bedroom, Bill knew he shouldn’t have any thoughts of Stan locking himself in his bathroom for any reasons that would be all too permanent. Bill hated those thoughts more than anything, so he knocked the door open slightly and, satisfied that nothing had gone wrong in there, pushed all notions aside.

“Stanny?” Bill poked his head in Stan’s bedroom, and was happily surprised, albeit a tad confused, by what he found.

The track that had been slightly muffled before was clear then and Stan was bouncing around his room to the music. There was something almost aggressive in his movements and something strangely eager about the smile on his face as he danced about.

Stan practically threw himself at Bill when he fully realized he had company,--- and that the company was someone so warmly and happily welcomed--- catching his hands in his own and leaning their foreheads together. “Bill! You made it!”

Bill, ever eager to make the people he loved happy, touched his nose to Stan’s and smiled. Worries and questions still nagged at the back of his mind. Stan looked far from happy. Not even a tired calm like he sometimes managed. He looked almost manic, something with which Bill was not familiar. “D-did something ha-ha-happen?”

The smallest flash of fear passed across Stan’s face before it was masked with put-on confusion. “What do you mean? Nothing’s happened! I’ve just been waiting for you!”

Bill frowned. “I saw y-you parents--”

Stan cut him off with a hand over his mouth. “Nope! No talking about that! Can’t think about that if we’re dancing, now can we?” The too-bright smile stayed plastered on Stan’s face and his eyes shined with a light that was too heated for Bill to find any comfort in.

Bill reached up to tug the hand over his mouth off. At the slight pout Stan threw his way, Bill pulled his hand back, kissed his palm, then dropped their connected hands back down between them. “We aren’t d-d-dancing, now are w-we, Staniel?”

“Then let’s change that!” With that, Stan pulled Bill farther into the bedroom and spun them around in dizzying circles that barely qualified as dancing. Still, the upbeat tempo of the music mixed with Stan’s laughter was intoxicating and Bill had no chance of survival. He let himself fall fast and deep, trailing behind as Stan dragged him along in his confusing dance of pure avoidance and misplaced coping. Stan was never much of a dancer, preferring to either sit out entirely when faced with school dances or to maneuver his way out to the courtyard where he and Bill would inevitably spend the rest of the night trying not to get caught for smoking on school grounds.

Bill was never big on dancing, either. He was clumsy and never knew what to do with his limbs. Bev had tried to help him time and time again, chanting out step after step, holding his hands to make sure he managed to imitate her somewhat, but her efforts had been in vain. After enough nights ending in The Losers reuniting to find Stan and Bill high off their asses, truthfully retelling their not so eventful evenings, Bev had given up on Bill and moved on to Eddie--- a much better study.

Neither of the two knew how to dance, but Stan knew how to sing. He often refused to sing any louder than the smallest whisper when anyone else was around, but spinning and hopping up and down with Bill with the sunlight streaming through the window and making Bill’s hair shine made him dizzy, singing as loudly as he could, not caring that he was on the verge of just screaming, but liking the way it made Bill giggle.

Eventually the song faded into silence but Stan continued to hold Bill’s hands, pulling him in the same endless loop they’d been traveling for the entirety of the song, and waiting for the silence to be filled again with more music.

“Is the s-s-same song on rep-peat?” Bill pulled to a stop, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yes indeed it is, Billy Boy,” Stan replied, too peppy, still bouncing with unsettled energy.

The music swelled around them again, letting Stan bounce to a rhythm rather than an exponentially growing tempo only he could feel. This was not  _ new _ but it certainly wasn’t anything Bill had witnessed before. He figured drawing direct attention to it while Stan still had a manic gleam in his eyes wasn’t the best course of action so he let his boyfriend sweep him back into their route around the room. “You sound like Richie with those nicknames.”

“Shh! Don’t say that! Just keep dancing!” Stan slowed only long enough to pull Bill into a playful kiss before sending him back out into orbit, kept spinning only by Stan’s energy. But Bill would do anything Stan said if it kept him off an edge, so he laughed and spun around, occasionally joining Stan in singing when he felt confident in the notes and lyrics.

More than a few times, they both closed their eyes, following nothing more than their instincts and general knowledge of the room surrounding them. Stan closed his eyes because the sunlight hurt and the skin at the corners of his eyes were red and painful. Bill closed his eyes because staring at Stan was like staring at a supernova--- unceasingly fascinating and beautiful but so destructively bright, it was painful.

By the end of their third time through the same song, Bill had begun to drag his feet just a little more and Stan had loosened his grip. Breathing with an embarrassing amount of effort, Stan finally stopped in the center of the room and instead of keeping Bill in orbit, pulled the other against him. Immediately, Bill welcomed the familiar feeling of both being held by Stan and being privileged enough to get to  _ hold _ Stan by wrapping his arms around Stan’s middle and sinking into Stan’s chest. He could feel Stan’s heart beating every place their skin met, could feel the desperate tug that tinged Stan’s hold on Bill. That only made Bill pull closer.

Stan hummed the melody in Bill’s ear as he ran his fingers through the hair at the back of Bill’s neck. Any shivers or sounds of approval Bill subconsciously made through the haze of being so close to Stan were gratefully acknowledged with nothing past a smile pressed to the top of Bill’s head.

The drugged out sort of calm that always finds its way to both of their heads any time the two spend time together is swept away when Bill’s anxiety from before returns. “H-hey, Stan?”

Stan only hummed in response.

Bill bit his tongue before continuing on, afraid of completely ruining whatever happy Stan had managed. “Are y-y-you parents g-gonna be h-h-home soon or…?” Bill could feel the stiffness run through Stan at his reminder. The worry that had been growing once again multiplied, instantly making him regret speaking. A silent plea to  _ anything _ that could possibly be looking out for Stan’s best interest to  _ just let them have more time _ , filled Bill’s head.

“I don’t know.” Stan’s reply was quiet and forced, but it was a reply.

Bill clutched his hands in the back of Stan’s sweater, holding Stan--- together--- when he could feel him drifting away from Bill. The heartbeat that had lulled him into a daze before was picking back up, beating what was surely a painful beat in Stan’s chest. It hurt Bill enough to feel the way Stan involuntarily reacted to the mention of his parents. He wanted nothing more than to take away the pain. Slowly, Bill turned his head so his forehead was resting roughly above Stan’s heart and placed a soft kiss where he could feel Stan’s heartbeat the most. “Do you wanna t-talk about it?”

On almost any other day Stan would have either ignored the question and changed the subject or huffed out a breathless “no” before going mute. That day, though, Stan stilled for a beat, unsure of the sudden tenderness of Bill’s kiss, and whispered a faint “okay.”

Surprise was evident enough in Bill’s stillness. He had always accepted every “no” Stan had given him without question. Stan telling him “yes” or “okay” wasn’t too rare but it certainly wasn’t a common occurrence when it came to discussions. But Bill wanted so much to help in any way he could that Stan's willingness to talk made a flame of hope light in Bill’s chest.

Pulling back slightly, Stan said, “I don’t want to stand anymore. Lay down with me? If that’s okay with you?”

It wasn’t a question he should have needed to ask. Bill appreciated Stan’s asking when it came to most, if not all, physical touches, but it was long past the point where Bill needed to be asked. If Stan wanted him, Bill was more than happy to oblige.

“Of course, Stan.”

They ended up on the floor of Stan’s bedroom. Bill had expected Stan to make his way to the more comfortable bed but instead he had collapsed on the floor right where he had been standing and offered out a hand to pull Bill down with him. A few moments of situating found Stan with his black flat on the carpet and Bill half on top of him, head firmly tucked under Stan’s chin.

“It really wasn’t a big thing, so don’t get all worried, okay? I swear it wasn’t important so just-- don’t freak out or anything. Please, Bill?” Stan’s voice had regained some steadiness, though it sounded like it would fail at any moment.

Bill slid a hand up to Stan’s curls, playing with them lightly like he knew always made Stan feel more secure. “I won’t freak out. Promise. Just keep talking--- if you want to, that is.”

“Okay, okay. Yeah.” Stan took a shuddering breath, tightening his grip on Bill’s flannel, before continuing on, “Right so, I told you my parents were leaving early his morning so they’d be gone long before you got here? Well, they gotta sorta behind schedule and ended up leaving later than they said they would. But that wasn’t the issue,” Stan added on when Bill lifted his head to give Stan a confused look. “The issue was that I wanted to surprise you before you got here but since they had left early I didn’t have enough time to wait to make sure that they wouldn’t be coming back any time soon--”

Again, Bill pushed himself up far enough to see Stan’s face. “Wait, wait-- What w-was the s-surprise?”

“I’m getting to that. Be patient, will ya’?”

“I’ve never once b-b-been patient before in my life, Stan. You of a-all people sh-should know that.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m highly aware of your inability to wait for anything. Will you hush now? You’ll get your answer sooner if you settle down and don’t interrupt me.”

“Jeeze, you’d th-think you’d be a l-l-little kinder to your w-wonderful boyfriend, Stan The Man,” Bill muttered as he resumed his previous position, fitting himself snuggly against Stan--- both as a reminder for himself and for Stan that neither was alone.

“I’m very kind to my wonderful boyfriend, he’s just a loud-ass!” Stan’s tone was teasing as he spoke despite the evident tole talking about the events from before was taking on him. “Anyway, be quiet now or I’ll never finish this-- So, they had already left but you were supposed to show up really soon so I had to rush and I should have waited longer to make sure they weren’t gonna circle back around for anything but I was in a rush. I just assumed they were gone for the day so I stopped paying attention to what was going on in the rest of the house, focused mostly on… On doing my eyeliner ‘cause I know how much you like it when Bev does my eyeliner.” It took all of Bill’s effort to not cut Stan off early and spend the rest of the day kissing him senseless. Just the knowledge that Stan would do that--- risk that--- for Bill made him blush.

And that was when Bill started to piece together the rest of the story. “Shit, Stan, he didn’t--”

“No, no!” Stan hugged Bill closer, his hand immediately combing through Bill’s hand to reassure him. “He didn’t hit me or anything, don’t worry. Dad doesn’t believe in that form of punishment.”

Frowning, Bill reached up to take Stan’s hand and link their fingers together. “Promise he didn’t hurt you? Really promise me?”

“I promise, Bill,” Stan said, gently rubbing his thumb over Bill’s knuckles. “Just let me finish the story? There really isn’t much more, you get the general idea. I was trying to figure out how to do those wings--- you know, that Beverly was teaching Richie to do a while ago?--- in their bedroom since Mom has a makeup mirror and I figured it would be best to not have to take her eyeliner out of her room, and I was so distracted I didn’t hear the door opening, nor Dad coming up the stairs.

“He sorta went ballistic when he realized what I was doing. Neither of them said why they came back, Dad was just yelling and Mom was standing in the doorway looking like she was about to pass out. I panicked and told him I’d wash it off and didn’t have plans to let anyone see, that I just wanted to try it, but that wasn’t an excuse to him. Started yelling more. Threatened to take my phone so I couldn’t… That part doesn’t really matter. Point is: he screamed his head off, threatened to take my phone, called some names, grabbed my phone and threw it down the stairs when I tried to respond to your message, and called some more names.

“Mom didn’t have much to say. She didn’t say anything at all, actually. Mostly just stared at me. The Dad told her they were leaving and didn’t look back at me. He muttered some more… colorful insults as they hurried out the door but that was the last of our interaction. They left, I started blasting that mixtape you made for me years ago, and then you showed up.”

Bill stayed silent, partially waiting to see if Stan had more to say, but mostly too unsure of himself to say anything. Stan didn’t have more to say. His breathing had gotten worse, shallower and faster the more he talked so he had no intention of even trying to repeat the worst parts or what Donald had yelled. Stan just buried his face in Bill’s hair and willed the tears to disappear.

“...Names meaning like… the names Bowers used to--”

“Yep.”

“And-- And they were  _ all _ directed at you or…?”

“...Maybe some of them were about Richie…” It wasn’t a well hidden secret that Stan’s parents didn’t approve of the person Stan’s childhood best friend had become. They thought he was bad enough the first time Stan had come home smelling like cigarettes after hanging out with Richie but after it stopped being a well hidden secret that Richie and Eddie were suddenly RichieAndEddie, the Uris’ wanted Stan as far from them as possible. Stan just refused to listen to that.

Being completely unable to see Stan’s face without pulling away from him made Bill nervous, so he quickly readjusted their positions--- Bill with his back against the footboard of Stan’s bed and Stan in Bill’s lap with his head pressed against Bill’s shoulder. “Y-you know th-that’s a-a-all fucking w-w-wrong, right, Stan?”

Stan shrugged.

“He  _ is _ w-w-wrong. So wrong.” Stan only shrugged again and wrapped his arms around Bill’s neck. Bill, in turn, wrapped his arms around Stan’s back and pressed a kiss to the side of his head. “You know h-him saying th-that about Rich is w-wrong, don’t you?”

Stan shifted a little before responding. “Well, yeah. Of course that’s wrong--”

“So it’s wrong ei-either way. There’s n-n-no difference between y-you and Richie.” He nudged Stan until he looked up and moved to rest their heads together, then said, “Except that y-y-you’re way p-prettier, of course.”

Stan chuckled at that, closing his eyes and leaning completely into Bill, not caring enough to hold back. “You’re not so bad yourself, Billiam.”

“Oh c-come on! You know I’m ab-absolutely g-g-gorgeous!”

“Mmm, maybe just a little.” Before Bill could protest anymore, Stan leaned forward again to place a kiss on Bill’s forehead and started singing. The music had long since been forgotten, fading into the background of Stan’s retelling of the morning, but Stan was not willing to dwell on that and ruin the rest of the day he and Bill had together.

“You have a nice v-voice, Stanny,” Bill whispered, careful to not disrupt the spell of calm that had fallen back over them, this time not laced with hints of mania and hurt.

Stan didn’t respond. He kept singing along with the recording, using the musical breaks between lyrics as excuses to shower Bill in affection and kisses. Bill complained that those breaks weren’t possibly long enough so Stan quickly lost his attempts at singing, each musical break growing and growing until Stan wasn’t singing at all.

At some point, Bill, having been pushed back onto the floor, looked up at Stan and smiled. “I really like you, Stanley Uris.”

And Stan, having propped himself up over Bill, looked down at Bill and smiled. “I really like you, too, Bill Denbrough.”


End file.
